


A dance

by DiseasedBreeze



Series: Batjokes ficlets [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: 48verse, Bisexual Bruce, Bruce doesn't understand how Joker or Batman work, Death of the family AU, Frotting, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Semipublic Sex, self indulgent poetry, too many flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiseasedBreeze/pseuds/DiseasedBreeze
Summary: Bruce Wayne loves Eric Border, just like Joker loves Batman. Life would be so much easier if they were separate people, but they're not, and Bruce has accepted that the price of his love is that Eric is one hostage he won't be able to save from the clown. For now he's playing along. He should be grateful that he's permitted something as simple as to dance with his boyfriend without the masks getting in the way.
Relationships: Batman/Joker, Bruce Wayne/Eric Border
Series: Batjokes ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107053
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	A dance

“Are you ready to go?” Bruce Wayne asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” Eric Border sighs and descends the stairs.

Bruce turns to look him over as Eric gives a small nervous smile. He stands as if uncomfortable in anything fancier than his Arkham whites. It seems unnatural to see him in a suit of white rather than his usual vibrant purple. Even his tie is a pastel shade, lavender rather than violet. He forces himself not to think of it as faded, that’s the Batman trying to think for him.

“Not much call for formalwear in Arkham.” Eric tells him.

“I think you look dashing.” Bruce says to put him at ease.

“I feel like I’m going to a job interview for the most important job of my life.” Eric sighs.

“If it helps you won’t be the only guest there who has tried to kill me in the past.” Bruce straightens Eric's tie.

Eric arches a curious eyebrow.

“The Court of Owls, if you remember them.” Bruce says. “Not all of them were arrested or died so some of the insufferable socialites we’ll be making small talk with last saw me knee deep in sewer water smashing the head of their undead assassin against the marble.”

Eric’s smile grows wide and he lets out a harsh barked laugh. His jaw is all wrong, lips pale rose instead of a sinful scarlet and pale skin seeming a dirty tan compared to its usual bleached white. Bruce’s hands tighten on his shoulders.

“Don’t.” He begs with his tone harsh and quiet.

“Don’t?” Eric asks and his voice goes soft with fear. The tight grip on his shoulders has him trapped against the bannister.

“It's...It’s too much like him.” Bruce whispers in his ear and Eric relaxes.

“Sorry.” He says softly and sweeps his hand across Bruce’s cheek. His smile twists, his fingers hook and Batman grabs his wrist before the nails can dig into flesh. He looks down into the acid green eyes of the Joker.

“Don't.” Batman orders.

The Joker flutters his eye lashes.

“I love it when you scold me, Darling. It makes me want to tear off these masks and run away to the rooftops with you.” He croons.

It feels _wrong_ hearing _his_ voice from that face...His fingers tighten without thinking, wanting to tear away that false face. He stops himself.

“Not now.” Batman tells him. “Please.”

“Oh, okay, for you _Bruce_.” The Joker’s voice caresses his name like the soft flick of a serpent’s tongue. “Do you promise the masks come off afterwards?”

“I promise _Eric_.” Batman puts a similar sultry spin on the pseudonym as he slips back into the skin of the playboy billionaire.

With a last self satisfied smirk the Joker fades back into the skin of Eric Border.

Bruce offers his arm and the Arkham orderly takes it, leaning against him like a starlet on a red carpet. He is awkward in a suit and tie, clearly more used to watching a high society event than attending one. His smile is uncertain around the edges, afraid of the attention he knows will be on them, and Bruce supports him with his easy-going confidence.

The part of Bruce that was Batman envies the quality of the mask. Bruce Wayne could fall for someone like Eric Border, someone with an earnest smile determined to help others. They could dance the night away under starlight, until the nervousness left his steps and they lost themselves in each other’s eyes. Eric Border was someone with a good heart. Yes, he could easily see their masks falling in love. It was a shame that there was something so dangerous under the mask.

He hadn’t known when they first met, Bruce Wayne to Eric Border.

* * *

To Bruce the meetings of the Arkham board of directors were two forms of torture; the first was having to act an amiable idiot when he was being fed dangerous misinformation by people acting like they knew more than him, the second was the sadness that he was the only person who saw the place as a _hospital,_ not a place for torturing prisoners or a tax farm. There were people here that genuinely needed help and even if he had all the money in the world he couldn’t do that by himself.

There was the taste of bile behind his false smile and the Bat in the back of his mind ached to slam their heads against the table until their brains started working. As the meeting broke up Bruce lamented the malevolent idiots in charge of this place and resolved to be back after dark to see how the Asylum _really_ was doing.

A warm cup in pressed into his hands and Bruce takes it without thinking. He raises it to his lips and notices the black coffee in it before his thoughts catch up with him.

“You looked like you could use a drink.” A familiar face says with a small smile. “Sorry it’s just instant coffee.”

He had met Eric as Batman before and the Bat’s methodical mind had labelled him an ally.

“Thanks.” He says with another fake smile as he takes a drink. It’s not the greatest but it’s hot and energizing and he’s drunk a lot of Arkham coffees in the past. He trusts Eric not to have poisoned it, he has no excuse not to. “I needed a drink.”

“The Board of Directors are, well...” Eric leaves a pause of tactful silence as he taps his fingers on his own mug. “But those of us that actually work here appreciate what you do for them.”

“Just doing my duty as a concerned citizen.” Bruce says with false cheer and inwardly braces himself to go back in.

“Seems to be fewer of those around these days.” Eric says and drums his fingers on his mug thoughtfully. “If you want to get a view from the trenches as it were, I’d be happy to give you a proper tour.”

Bruce smiles, not the patient fake smile that looked good on cameras but something a bit more encouraging.

“I’d love to.” He says and means it.

* * *

They reach the car sleek and gleaming that is going to take them to the Diamond District. They slip into the seats next to each other, silent as the car slips into the evening. This was not their time, while the setting sun still stained the skyline and cast long bars of shadows on the ground. The buildings were shining and the sky is gold and blue fading to indigo too light to belong to them.

“Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky, like a patient etherized upon a table.” Bruce quotes T.S. Eliot as he tries to think what to say to a man that was not the Joker but contained him as an egg shell holds a chick.

Eric smiles and it is not the Joker's smile.

“And indeed there will be time, for the yellow smoke that slides along the street, rubbing its back upon the window-panes. There will be time, there will be time, to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; there will be time to murder and create, and time for all the works and days of hands, that lift and drop a question on your plate.” Eric recites back. “Time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of a toast and tea.”

Eric's tone is soft and sombre as he picks another part of the poem but his meaning is clear; there will always be the time for the things underneath to be together without them.

“Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets, and watched the smoke that rises from the pipes, of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas, and the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!” Bruce replies as he watches the streets almost sleepy under the light of day, without any of the danger or promise of the city at night. The buildings that had been his battlefield for so long were just that, buildings.

Silence follows this statement, the two not quite meeting each other’s eyes as the sunset streets pass in front of them. Eric’s pale face is reflected in the window pane.

“I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; I am an attendant lord, one that will do, to swell a progress, start a scene or two, advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, deferential, glad to be of use, politic, cautious, and meticulous; full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; at times, indeed, almost ridiculous, almost, at times, the Fool.” Eric says softly.

“Only you would make that sound like a sacred duty.” Bruce laughs and Eric smiles.

“Chin up Prince Charming.” Eric’s slender fingers stroke up his jawline. “It’s time for the ball.”

They step from the car to a swarm of camera flashes. Bruce watches as Eric swallows nervously and he moves to carefully balance him with a hand resting around the orderly’s waist. This was where the persona of Bruce Wayne; Billionaire belonged, attending a charity gala with a beauty on his arm.

Eric was beautiful in his own way, there was no doubt about it. He was sweet and naive in that way that made anyone want to protect them, with a sincerity to his humble nervousness that would fool anyone who didn’t already know what beast that lurked behind the mask.

Eric had been someone he could trust in Arkham, reliable, a friend. He wasn’t just a help to Batman but to Bruce Wayne. As one of the institution’s key financers he often stopped by and had to swallow his frustrations at having to act less intelligent than he was.

* * *

They had got to talking in the break room as the orderly peeled back the layers of his disguise with deceptive ease. Eric had never gotten close to Batman, something Bruce had thought strange at the time, but he’d laid out all his other insecurities and asked to be allowed to soothe them.

It had been a rough day, he’d agreed, just to take some weight off his family’s shoulders. He hadn’t expected to fall so fast but he had and the hushed conversations soon grew to heartfelt confessions.

It was...nice to talk to someone who cared about him, not his money, not his good looks, and not Batman, but Bruce Wayne, the man who saw his parents get shot in front of him and never really recovered. Eric cared about _him_ in the way only Alfred had seemed to, not because of the money but because Eric wanted to help.

Soon he was seeing Eric every time he had a meeting in Arkham, then even when he didn’t have a meeting. At first he told himself that he was just doing scouting, making sure the inmates were safe and everyone else was safe from them but eventually he’d started looking forward to just seeing Eric again.

Lingering looks over the table became making out in the broom closet with the hot and heavy rush of guilt and fear of getting caught he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager.

It was only after they kissed that Bruce realized that he’d actually had feelings for another man.

* * *

He’d even been planning on telling him he was Batman, until he found out in the worst way possible that Eric had known all along. As they had lain there in the blood with what felt like the world collapsing around them, he had known the Joker would come back. He hadn’t expected Eric to come back too.

The camera flashes flared in their eyes and Eric presses against his side for comfort. Bruce brushes his thumb over their interlinked hands and leans in to whisper a reassurance in his ear that the cameras couldn’t catch. The flare of camera bulbs intensifies.

“Mr Wayne are you confirming the rumors?” A reporter shouts above the general din.

Bruce flashes his magazine cover perfect smile and the cameras flash accordingly.

“Yes, Mr Border is accompanying me as my date, no I will not discuss last week’s picture of us kissing, yes I am aware of his occupation and he is aware of my dating history, no this does not ‘make me gay’ or invalidate any of those previous relationships and I beg you to learn the meaning of the term ‘bisexual’. No further questions.” He rattles off without changing his expression even as the noise grows.

The pair step away from the cameras and into the lobby.

“Vultures.” Bruce snorts derisively, keeping his lips drawn tight so the cameras can’t lipread but projecting like a born ventriloquist.

“Now Bruce, that’s an insult to a fine and noble body of carrion birds.” Eric replies with an equal practiced ease.

“They’re going to write terrible things about you in the papers.” Bruce warns him.

“Don’t they always?” Eric smiles, a genuine smile nothing like his under-self. “Come on Bruce, I came here to dance. Won’t you dance with me?”

“Of course.” Bruce smiles and directs him to the dance floor.

The band is playing a gentle waltz and Bruce ignores the prickle of curious eyes on his skin. He bows and offers his hand. Eric smiles and takes it.

“Everyone’s staring.” Eric mutters.

“Only because you’re so beautiful.” Bruce replies.

Eric grins.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” He says.

“Only the pretty ones.” Bruce replies with a small smile.

“You are a terrible flirt.” Eric says and steps on his foot on purpose.

Eric hums a few bars from Beauty and the Beast, out of tune with the song the band is playing.

“Which one am I?” Bruce asks him.

“You know.” Eric replies.

They dance.

* * *

Bruce hadn't meant to get caught by the paparazzi.

He hadn’t planned for a date at all.

He had thought Eric was dead forever and he’d mourned him like he did all his lost loves. When he saw him again...he wasn’t thinking of anything but holding him and never letting go.

Eric...tried to resist, but even though the first thing he’d said was ‘loving you is bad for my health’ he had stayed and that...that was worth any fear that this was just a hostage put in front of him by Joker. Maybe he was or it had started that way but Eric was as real as Bruce Wayne, regardless of who else there was behind their face. They’d talked in a little cafe, not his usual kind of place, but somewhere where they had a little privacy, and opened up.

Neither of them were under any delusion about who else was sharing their skin. Just being near each other put people in danger but honestly, Bruce was used to that by now. Sooner or later it seemed like everyone he ever loved had the Joker hold a knife to their throat. Did it really make that much difference if the only ones that knew the knife was there was them? The danger wouldn’t go away just because Bruce did.

They make it through the date without Joker stabbing him, even though there’s knives on the table and Bruce knows he could. He can see Joker watching him from behind Eric’s eyes, just like Batman was watching behind his own. He’s loving having a hostage Batman can’t take from him.

Eric had made it clear that if _he_ tried to do anything, he couldn’t stop... _him_ while he shredded a paper napkin into smaller and smaller pieces. Bruce had put his hand on Eric’s, then leaned in and kissed him.

It was the only way he knew to say without words that he knew and understood that Eric was worth keeping a serpent so close to his heart.

Then he’d seen the camera and with the dreadful inevitability of the worst of human nature the media circus had begun.

Later Joker had slipped a stolen knife between his ribs and explained how this was going to go and, despite Batman snarling in the back of his mind, Bruce had agreed to his demands.

* * *

Eric finds he is smiling to himself as he washes his hands. The soap bubbles up around his fingers, the water’s hot, and he takes care to be careful even though his body wants to scrub until the bubbles went bubble-gum pink and his hands were stinging with sharp sensation and shining scarlet when he lifted them from the water. His breath catches in his throat as he washes the foam free of his fingers.

The door opens behind him and he hears the whisper of it locking and soft footsteps against the tile. He raises his gaze from the ivory sink to the mirror as strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“Hello lover.” Bruce whispers in his ear.

“Hello Bruce.” Eric replies and the arms tighten around him.

“ _I want you._ ” Bruce’s voice, husky with need, sends a shiver over Eric’s skin.

The running tap continues to spill into the sink, texturing the heated silence between them with the sound of splashing water.

Eric turns around so his back is pressed up against the edge of the sink and he is face to face with Bruce.

“Oh my, is this really how Gotham’s famous playboy billionaire does his seducing?” He asks, intending to be playfully mocking but his eyes are drawn to how little space there was between their lips.

Bruce kisses him, not pausing to ask permission as his tongue presses forcibly into Eric’s mouth, taking everything he wanted without mercy, like he always did. Eric opens his mouth for his lover to more thoroughly ravish as their tongues curled together, hot and slick and hungry for each other. The edge of the sink digs into Eric’s hips as Bruce pushes their bodies closer together. His grip tightens on Eric’s waist to pull Eric closer to him and, though Bruce was the one who confessed his need first, Eric was the one clinging to Bruce’s shirt like a drowning man clings to debris.

Eric can’t help the moan Bruce easily pulls from his lips, it feels so good, heat is prickling over his skin and his heart is aching with how much he wants this, how much he wants more. The world seems to have shrunk just to the heat of their meeting mouths, snatching quick breaths from the heated air while flesh and saliva mingled in a fervent ecstatic mess. Bruce pulls him closer and a lightning bolt of sensation zaps up Eric’s spine and makes his back arch. He hadn’t realized how hard he was getting until there was the pressure of Bruce’s thigh brushing against his cock. Bruce smirks and grinds down. He savors the half-pained gasp of pleasure he pulls from Eric like the sadist he was. Eric’s eyes squeeze shut, his body shivering at how intense the sensation is. His pants are clearly tented and he can barely breathe when Bruce cups him with his palm.

“ _Bruce._ ” He whimpers a plea.

Bruce places a kiss on his exposed neck as he undoes the button on Eric’s pants. He pulls down the zip with what seems like an agonizing slowness as he parts the fabric to expose Eric’s underwear. With care he teases the cloth free of Eric’s erection until the Arkham orderly’s cock springs firmly against his palm. Eric gasps as the feeling of cold air on his cock then it becomes a moan as the cold air is replaced by Bruce’s hand. Bruce holds him without moving his hand, leaving kisses along the curve of Eric’s neck that become harsher and harsher until Bruce’s lips are leaving purpling bruises behind.

“Sadist.” Eric moans as a particularly strong mark is branded into his skin and Bruce’s hand squeezes his shaft.

“Masochist.” Bruce replies and Eric can’t deny him, not with his cock twitching so eagerly in his partner’s hand.

“ _Wreck me._ ” He begs, half sobbing with desperation.

Bruce kisses the tears from his eyes, leaning against him and making Eric gasp when he feels the bulge of Bruce’s erection press against his leg. Bruce wanted him too. A heady rush sweeps over him at the fact Gotham’s most eligible bachelor was hard for _him._ Bruce takes his time freeing his erection from his pants and Eric isn’t sure how he can stand to be so slow; his own body was so humming with sensation that having to wait even another second was almost physically painful to him. Perhaps that’s why he does it, Eric’s beautiful sadist seldom passed up a change to make him squirm and he loves him for it. God, his cock was beautiful, so long and thick and _hard_. The ancient Greeks would weep for the chance to sculpt it.

Bruce picks him up, angling his hips so that gravity presses their bodies closer together, Eric’s entire weight pressing on him. An electric jolt runs down Eric’s spine as their cocks touch. It is never going to stop impressing Eric how Bruce can pick him up as if he weighed no more than a couple of grapes. He moans and Bruce drags his teeth across Eric’s earlobe.

“Look what you do to me.” Bruce whispers in his ear and another tingle runs down Eric’s spine.

“ _Bruce._ ” He moans, half a prayer and half a plea. If he’s made to wait any longer he thinks he might explode.

Bruce’s mouth returns to Eric’s neck, putting a sweetly painful pressure on the bruising skin with tongue and tooth that makes Eric groan needily. Then Bruce’s hand is wrapping around them both, pressing their cocks against each other and still resolutely _not_ moving and Eric feels like he is going to die if he doesn’t get off soon. He feels rather than sees Bruce smirking as he refuses to move, holding his power over him even though Bruce’s cock was as hard as his own. Eric is frozen, as helpless as he would be if his limbs were tied (and he knew the experience), he couldn’t move even though he was desperate for some friction. All the power lay with Bruce, just as he liked it.

“ _Please._ ” Eric begs.

“Say it.” Bruce demands, forcing Eric to work out what he wanted to hear.

“I-I want you.” Eric stammers out and Bruce rolls his hips in a motion that sends fire running down Eric’s spine.

He groans, a deep, low, primal sound that makes an answering hiss leave Bruce’s mouth. Eric’s body is trapped between the lip of the sink pressing painfully below the hips and the firm muscled body of the billionaire and he might as well be stuck between two walls for all the power he has to influence either. Bruce rolls his hips again, moving his hand at the same time so they’re grinding hard against each other and Eric groans again, louder this time.

“Hush, hush sweetheart.” Bruce whispers in his ear and for all his pretence of being the one in control Eric can hear the lust in his voice. “There’s still a party going on out there. People might overhear.”

“I-I can’t!” Eric half sobs. His shoulders are shaking with how good it feels, he knows he can’t control himself. They had gags at home for that reason.

“I know.” Bruce says and Eric’s cock twitches at how _proud_ he sounds of the fact.

As his tongue returns to teasing the bruises to the very edge between pain and pleasure he slips two fingers Eric’s mouth and thrusts. Eric moans, grateful for the digits to suck on to muffle his voice, and gets an answering grunt from Bruce as he grinds their bodies together. Fireworks burst inside Eric at how good it feels to finally have some relief and he starts to lose himself in the sensation. Bruce sets a pace that is punishing, ruthless and the overstimulation is as painful as it is pleasurable. His entire body is shivering with the sensation of being kept on that edge. He is grateful for the fingers in his mouth to focus on.

The coil of tension that had been holding them stiff releases and Eric is grateful for the sink at his back as it takes their combined weight for a moment. His shoulders shake and for a brief moment with the fireworks in every inch of his skin he loses himself. Bruce holds him close as his breath shudders from his mouth. Cum spills over their bodies.

The other one comes back first; he’s had more practice at it. The Joker twists against his grip, reaching for something he can use as a weapon. Batman pins his hand before he can grab anything.

“Talk about being caught with my pants down.” The Joker laughs.

“Bring him back.” Batman orders softly. “We made a deal.”

“I'm getting sick of waiting _._ ” The Joker hisses. “I want to play too! You know how much I love parties!”

“This is not the time or the place.” Batman hisses back, already tensing to fight.

The Joker holds a finger to his head.

“Maybe I don’t want to wait.” He says as if it was a gun he was holding.

“Joker...” Batman growls, painfully aware that there’s nothing he can do to save someone being held hostage in their own head.

The Joker grins.

“I could kill him right now you know. I made him for you, I can _unmake_ him. Cut him out of our lives all together, snip _snip.”_

Batman jolts forwards on instinct but there is no weapon to grab. He just ends up closer, looking directly into the Joker’s acid-green eyes. There is a silent demand echoing in the abyssal depths of each black pupil and Batman gives in to it.

“You are the only one I care about.” Batman says softly. “Let them have their fun. We’ll have _our_ fun later, won’t we?”

The words taste bitter in his mouth but it’s what the Joker wants to hear and they both know it.

The Joker grins.

“Alright _Darling_.” He says in a voice as soft and deadly as a poisoned kiss. “I look forward to _our_ dance.”

Then he fades and leaves Eric trembling in his arms.

“He…” Eric gasps.

“I know, I’m here.” Batman says and Eric clings to him with a small whimper. “I’m sorry.”

As much as it hurts him to Batman has to leave him. That was the agreement; Joker wouldn’t kill him as long as Batman’s attention was on him alone. It was a fragile promise but it was better than any of the Joker’s other hostages got. Bruce and only Bruce has to be the one to hold him as Eric breathes out a shuddering sigh and smiles back up at him.

“It was great Sweetheart.” He says. “Something special happen while I was gone?” He asks.

Bruce snorts.

“Some people talking bad about you behind your back.” He says and holds him close. “I wanted to remind myself how wrong they are.”

A strangled sound between a laugh and a sob gets caught in Eric’s throat.

“Were they?”

“Eric.” Bruce says firmly. “You’re not him, you’re not responsible for the things he does, you don’t have to apologize for him.”

This time the sound is definitely a laugh, not quite _his_ laugh but close enough to set Bruce’s teeth on edge.

“Just like you’re not Batman?” Eric says with a touch of hysteria.

Bruce merely gives him a hard look. It’s easier than dipping into the nest of worms that was his feelings about Batman to try and find an explanation. Eric settles, mostly because it’s _Bruce’s_ disappointed look he’s being given, not Batman’s.

“He scares me Bruce.” Eric whispers, running his hands up his arms as if cold. “I can’t…I can’t stop him.”

“I know.” Bruce says solemnly and sighs. “I know.”

He opens his arms and Eric accepts the hug, behind pulled close against Bruce’s chest. His head tucks under Bruce’s chin and strong, muscled, safe arms curl around his back.

“Let’s go out there and dance.” He suggests. “We deserve it.”


End file.
